


Awful Lips

by BaggedGenreNovel (dzen)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Session, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, Carapaces, F/M, Hate Sex, Humour, PWP without Porn, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Pre-Relationship, Prototyping, Snogging, Stabbing, Violence, Xeno, stabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzen/pseuds/BaggedGenreNovel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise titled:  Jack ==> Don't Ascend</p>
<p>The beta kids were neither the first nor the last group of players to prototype ridiculous outfit combos.  Jack Noir, Archagentleman and all around Stab Up Guy, is not the slickest card in the deck when it comes to romance. However, given enough time and a nudge in the right direction, even he can recognise a horrible thing when it punches him in the face. </p>
<p>Or: how might a scene like the one in "Jack ==> Ascend" have gone down if the Royal Deringer hadn't been in the picture? </p>
<p> PWP...W...P... Written for Aha! Sly Lord!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awful Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aha!SlyLord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aha%21SlyLord).



Ah great, would you look at that, she broke the goddamn window! You narrow your eyes a little further. You are very good at narrowing your eyes. You have been _practising_.

 

She stares down at you, all regal and snooty-like. She probably knows exactly how much paperwork you’re gonna have to fill out about the broken window. Nah. Worse. She probably _don’t_ know, and don’t care neither. In fact, all of that not-caring is practically rolling off of her like cheap perfume. Like she’s doing it on _purpose._ Bitch.

 

She wants to know why you ain’t wearing your kilt. You say, “because it is a stupid skirt and I ain’t no pansy”. The room is starting to get seriously chilly. She tells you to put on the kilt. And the jewels. And the goddamn feather boa. Fuck those kids. If they’d had any taste they’d have prototyped something with knives!

 

_Her_ feather boa is draped all dainty-like around her neck. Or, it _is_ her neck? You’ve never been exactly sure how all of that ring stuff works. Either way, it’s this dark rich purple colour, which matches her complexion perfectly. Her face is all shiny and slick against the softness. A goddamn vision of royal glory. Eugh.

 

You ask her why _your_ feather boa is orange instead. She arranged it for you specially, she answers. “Don’t you like it, Archageant?”. Orange? _Orange!_ That’s practically _gold!_ You narrow your eyes at her respectably hued boa some more, and curl your lip. It is getting difficult to see because of how narrow your eyes are now, but it is worth it.

 

She flicks the end of the boa back over her top left shoulder, and leans back against your shitty desk. A tower of precariously balanced overdue Violation Fine Violation fines topples to the floor. Great. Just great. You had a nice thing going there with that tower. A work of art, it was. One of her hands inches towards your much smaller pile of completed work. Oh no. No, not the decorative paperweight…

 

The delicate glass Shiv shatters against the wall behind your head.

 

“Duck.” She says.

 

That does it! This broad thinks she can mess with you? That paperweight had sentimental goddamn value or something! Your exoskeleton goes extra tough as you palm your favourite blade.

 

She smirks at you.

 

You spin around and snatch the orange boa off the prototyping manikin. With your lovingly sharpened butterfly knife you shred the fluffy monstrosity to a cloud of hideous down. The orange fluff billows in the air, and Her High and Mightyness stops leaning idly, and stands up straight. Yeah, that’s right. It’s time to pay _attention,_ Miss Poofy Aloofness!

 

Looking down from her full height, she gestures with one hand towards the manikin. It’s so casual it makes your gums bleed, that’s how hard you clench your jaw. Bitch thinks she owns the world!

 

You steadfastly refuse to remember that she does, in fact, own this world.

 

Just as casually, she raises another arm and points at you. _Regally_. Her long, thin talon is centimeters from your face, and her claw gleams in the light of the remaining windows.

 

You almost, _almost_ , bite it. Instead, though it chafes your gut to do so, you put away your knife. With a conscious act of your very firm will, you relax your shell out of strife mode. Stiffly, you turn to the manikin.

 

Aw man. What an ugly pair of sissy slacks.

 

“ _Okay, Jack,”_ you mutter to yourself, relieving the manikin (mannequin) of its tartan skirt, “ _this ain’t so bad. Could be real tough. Maybe where them filthy rotten prototyping scum come from, wearing a skirt is some kinda tough guy thing. Maybe only mob bosses get to wear ‘em, or heavies with big muscles and stabby dispositions_.”

 

Fat chance. Who the hell are you kidding? You can _feel_ your Mangrit draining away the closer this thing comes to your steadily pansifyin’ torso. You glance back at Bossy McBritches. She ain’t even watching you! She’s leaning back on one elbow, and checking out her goddamn talons! Without looking up, she lazily flaps a third hand in your direction.

 

“ _Get on with it_ , _Archagent_.” She says.

 

A flash of pure rage snaps your exo-armour back in place in record time. Under normal circumstances you would reluctantly curse your fury as impotent, and go back to playing Dersite Dolly with the desperate houseroyal. This time, you notice the Regisword.

 

It is leaning up against the desk, tantalisingly close. Breathing is suddenly for chumps.

 

With a snarl you leap forward and snatch it. The moment you grasp the hilt something hard and sharp slams into the back of your head. Your face smashes into the surprisingly pointy corner of your desk, taking a chip out of your forehead. You try to roll away, but a clawed hand grabs the back of your neck, pinning you against the desk. More claws bite into your sword-wielding wrist. You flail about with your free arm. It too is seized, and twisted up behind your back. Her still soft carapace presses against your armour, insolently undefended.

 

“And what did you think you could do with _that_ , Archagent?” Her breath heats your cheek. The frustrated urge to stab is overpowering. Her bared fangs drift closer and closer to your face.

 

You call her some names that she one-hundred-percent deserves, and kick out backwards. A lucky shot catches her right in the ankle. Her stiletto loses its grip. She stumbles. Her hold on you relaxes, ever so slightly.

 

Big mistake, Your Handsyness!

 

You wrench your sword arm as hard as you can. Hah! The Regisword arcs backwards through the air like a pendulum. Your wrist jars as the oversized pigsticker scrapes through brittle soft-shell and into flesh. A tangy smell fills the air

 

She screeches. The Regisword bites deeper, hitting something solid again before flying free. She flings you to the floor as she recoils, and you land with a clatter. You roll away. Her screaming stops as you scramble to your feet. Teeth bared, you spin to face her.

 

The Regisword is dripping blood. One of The Queen’s arms lies on the floor between you.

 

There is absolute silence.

 

Shit. You think that was probably a bad idea. You consider the kind of reward that literally disarming your infuriating but extremely powerful monarch might actually get you. In detail. You begin to sweat.

 

You should probably apologise. “So, look…” you start. You take a deep breath, and stop.

 

She stares at you. The heady smell of her nasty blood is clouding up your thoughts. You take another deep breath.

 

“ _Look. At. What?”_ Her voice is distilled menace. One of her hands is clamped over her bleeding stump, but that still leaves a whole mess more limbs, and all of them are clawed and deadly. You should probably start begging.

 

Ah fuck it. You raise the shitty Regisword, and sneer at her. She narrows her eyes. Without breaking eye contact, she releases the wound and instead grips the remaining shaft of the severed arm tightly. With a loud crack and a tiny flinch, she snaps it off at the base. You twitch a little. The bleeding slows and stops, as the joint seals off the wound.

 

Her own armor snaps into place. Very slowly, she advances on you. _Click. Click. click_. Her footsteps are echoing much louder than they should be. Her teeth are bared.

 

You absolutely have not retreated until you are backed up against that idiotic clothes doll. You may have taken a step back though. Just to get your footing, of course.

 

_Click,_ she’s arms length away. You brandish the blade, angling the point towards her neck.

 

_Click,_ she steps in further. For some reason, your arms are refusing to move. The sanctimonious witch must be working some kind of royal magic. That or she broke your arm earlier. Without you noticing. Bitch. Instead of running her through, you hiss at her, showing _all_ your teeth. _Even the third row._ She doesn’t react.

 

_Click._

 

She stops. The tip of your sword rests lightly on the lowest joint of her neck. She has not broken eye contact.

 

“Fair’s fair.” She says. Cryptic fucking crone.

 

There are claws around your neck before you see her move. The little room blurs into streaks of purple and black and orange as she yanks you off your feet. You somehow manage to retain possession of the Regisword as you are reunited with your loving friend, Ms. Floor.

 

Unfortunately, possession of a deadly weapon does not do you much good this time. Prone on your back, you are still struggling to get your bearings when a sharp foot presses down on your best stabbing wrist. You stop moving and look up.

 

She doesn’t bother to bend over towards you. Won’t debase herself to even do you _that_ courtesy. Instead, her lowest set of arms simply reaches down. One claw captures your empty hand while the other braces against your forearm. With a brutal twist, she snaps off your hand.

 

You scream. She laughs. The sovereign harpy throws back her head and cackles as you thrash. You spit curses at her, trying to free your bleeding stump, trying to free the regisword, trying to _stab her._ She calms down enough to give you a look of sickening, condescending _fondness_ , and that’s it, oh _that is_ _IT!_

 

You kick her in the groin. She very definitely was not expecting it.

 

 

She stumbles over backwards, catching herself at the last minute. “You _dare-”_ She screeches, but by that time you’re already on your feet and swinging down.

 

_Screeeee_.

 

The sword scrapes against the armour on her shoulder as she deflects, leaving a bright grey scratch and a fine black dust. In the same movement she captures your sword arm as it finishes its arc, clamping it into in her top armpit and trapping the Regisword behind her own back. She uses your own momentum to yank you forward, and suddenly you are face to face. You hover there an instant, snarling at each other.

 

“You’ve got a lot of _guts_ , Jack.” She says, and wow, that can’t be good. What is this Crazy Broad even playing at? You are going to kill her when you get free, you are actually going to do it, you are going to cut those no good eyes right out of her nauseating— _whoa hold it wait woah wait a minute WHAT???_

 

You absolutely were not expecting her to kiss you. She clamps the back of your head so you can’t escape. Your insides go all tingly, like even your blood is trying to turn into knives and stab her through your shell. Good work, blood. If she thinks you’ll back down now you’re about to smash another think right through her smug stupid face!

 

You smash your already ruined mouth harder against hers. Blood is all you can taste. Her teeth rip another small chunk out of your bottom lip, leaving it ragged and torturous. She licks it. You roar, and snap at her tongue, managing to catch the tip of it just as she whisks it away. Her breath hitches. She makes a furious little clicking noise, and stabs you, with one clawed finger, right in the aforementioned guts. She doesn’t break the kiss. You reach your stump arm around and hook it through the back of her boa, pulling the loop tight against her neck.

 

Suddenly you’re flying through the air again. This time it’s Mr Broken Window who breaks your graceful flight, and far less gently than sweet Ms Floor. Your loathsome Lady squeezes your neck up against the glass. Your feet still can’t reach the ground. She holds you aloft, pinning you by your neck and your sword shoulder. And by your goddamn thoracic wound. The fire of the possibly lethal pain is adding to the tingling that’s been growing ever since she crashed into this dump. The shattered glass at the edge of her homemade door digs into your sword arm as she grinds your shoulder into it. You hiss at her again. She hisses back. And _of course_ she has more teeth than you, _of fucking course._

 

You twist your arm behind her to try for one more swing. The Regisword catches her right in the shoulder that’s holding your neck. Yes! She flinches the arm away and grabs your wrist as it comes back for a second blow. You use the momentum to stab it into her thigh instead. Her shriek sends shockwaves through your nervous system, and some of the chitinous armour covering your lower regions spontaneously rearranges itself.

 

Wait. Oh. _Ohhh_.

 

The murder in her eyes is giving you chills. Ignoring the Regisword stuck like a toothpick in her thigh, she grabs your stumpy forearm. Another claw crushes your upper arm into the glass, and you know what’s coming. Her saw teeth glint centimetres from your face as she _twists_. The fleshy _crack_ and _snap_ is sickening, is agony, is — is— _is—_

_Infuriating._

 

This time it is you who wrenches forwards, to kiss her awful lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This was very hard for me to write. I generally don't do any kind of porn (not that I really got to the porn, I guess, but that was mostly because I don't have a satisfactory idea of what carapace sex would involve), and this was written for a friend's kink mostly as an exercise. I had a lot of fun though!
> 
> Constructive criticism will earn my heartfelt platonic shanking. Any reviews, an affectionate spit in the eye.
> 
> I am writing these fics mostly to improve my speed and general technique, and any feedback I can get is extremely valuable to me, so don't hold back with criticisms, please! And, on the flip side, even just knowing that people are reading and enjoying my work makes me want to write more!


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